A Thousand Suns
by LusidDreamer
Summary: A few months after being enlisted into Akatsuki, Deidara's still sour over how easily he was defeated by Uchiha Itachi. He's tried to get along with everyone (to some degree) but the Uchiha remains a closed book to him, and since Deidara's art has been suffering as a result he's going to stop at nothing to get something from the stoic Uchiha. Rating may change. [ItaDei]
1. Stimulus

**Chapter 1: Stimulus**

There he was. That Uchiha bastard, sitting across the table and wearing that look that said 'I'm somewhere else, so don't bother'. His eyes were black at the moment, staring listlessly into a cup of tea. Upon closer inspection one would be enchanted to see they actually resembled more of a molten gunmetal than onyx—and Deidara certainly did inspect. Only natural, of course, for one with a healthy appreciation for aesthetics. Not that the man was anything special, just...

From the moment he'd first beheld those eyes—those radiant, piercing eyes—as a runaway Iwa shinobi, Deidara couldn't stand how his aesthetic ideals were scorned before the gifted gaze of this challenger. Art was supposed to be an ephemeral thing, an object of beauty vanishing in a blaze—no, an explosion—of glory, but that accursed Sharingan made a mockery of it with no apparent effort on the Uchiha's part. Manipulating at their will, Deidara had been helpless, trapped in a web of crimson and gold that dared even to twist his very own creations, and yet...

... And yet as soon as it'd happened, it was over. What had never truly existed from the offset was suddenly gone; Deidara had come back to his senses to find that the Uchiha's glare was dark, stony as though nothing had just transpired. And was that not the most ideal, the most fleeting art? A mind-warping illusion cast by kaleidoscope eyes, the otherworldly glow of which one only needed witness for the briefest of moments before you were essentially done for?

And as though this defeat wasn't terrible enough, the worst betrayal of all was that in his heart, he knew that this creature was perfection. But how could that be, when it wasn't his own perfection?!

Thus it was that Deidara was captured—forced to serve an organisation where he feared his creativity would go grossly under-appreciated. To say that the journey to the Akatsuki hideout was uncomfortable would be an understatement; it was those tense few days that cemented completely Deidara's searing hatred for the name Itachi Uchiha, and its owner's smug attitude. Even more than the fact he had so shamelessly usurped his own perfect practice, the Iwa shinobi learned to detest that those rare eyes gave no insight, not even the smallest shred, as to what lurked beneath Itachi's cool exterior. Any gloating of his glorious exploits, or even casual smalltalk made to quell the boredom fell on uncaring ears and the infurating 'I'm-not-here' stare that would eventually become a daily source of agitation.

Why. Didn't. He. Care?!

Granted, while the Uchiha and the menacing shark man had continued silently ahead for much of the way, he had at least found common ground with the mysterious Sasori—not that their tastes exactly agreed—and was pleased to find out it was with the puppeteer that he would eventually be paired. That way he could hopefully avoid Itachi as much as possible.

But it turned out that the grand plans of Akatsuki required further preparation before they could make their move; which, for Deidara, meant holing up in the hideout for tedious amounts of time, since he was hardly suited for gathering intel unnoticed. That was how he and Itachi found themselves eating meals within sight of each other almost daily for a period, or colliding every so often in one of many winding tunnels—or even worse, taking a simultaneous dip in the springs. And every single time such a thing occurred Deidara found himself gritting his teeth in fury at the Uchiha's complete lack of regard for his existence.

Was he not a sought after shinobi whose bloodline limit and unique style had attracted the most powerful renegades of their time? Was his art not an incredible sight to behold? And was he not just an overall delight to be around?

So why did this pasty, bag-eyed fuck seem to think offering nothing but clipped responses was remotely acceptable? He even paid the likes of Hidan more mind than him, and that guy was a complete asshole.

"Hey **Uchiha** ," he said finally with a scowl, pointing his chopsticks at Itachi. They were alone in the makeshift dining room, the others having finished up and dispersed quite quickly that morning. Defying all expectation, the Uchiha actually deigned to make eye contact with him, darkened lids fluttering open with mild surprise. Deidara didn't realise eyelashes could even be so long and thick—not on a guy, at least. "... Maybe you should try coffee, hm?"

"No, thank you."

And just like that, the conversation was over. Not that it was one in the first place; a conversation usually comprises of some sort of back-and-forth, and as per usual Deidara may as well have been speaking to one of Sasori's creepy creations fitted with a voice recording for all the response he got. But today he didn't feel like letting up. There had to be a way to stir up some semblance of life in this walking statue. The blond leaned back in his seat with a crooked grin.

"Aw, why not? You'd be more attractive if you perked up, hm!"

Itachi's gaze remained lowered, but Deidara could have sworn that his lips curved ever so subtly upward.

"So if I understand correctly, you already think I'm _at least somewhat_ attractive?"

"Um, **not** what I said, yeah?!" He backtracked with another, more accusing jab of his chopsticks in Itachi's direction.

"Alright," he replied, the defeat in his tone not at all convincing. The same couldn't be said for his smile, for that's definitely what it had become—a charming quirk to each side of the Uchiha's cupid's-bow mouth that had Deidara staring in disbelief. The artist inside practically screamed at such a vision, but the only response he gave was a silent gawp. Several minutes passed with no further dialogue, until Itachi finished off the last dregs of his tea.

"I'll see you around."

With that Itachi gathered up his dishes and walked off, leaving an awkward Deidara to follow his exiting back with wide blue eyes.

* * *

The morning's events found Deidara in his quarters, sculpting away, though his usual simplistic animal designs didn't serve to inspire him at all. The mouth in his palm chewed thoughtfully, and went on chewing until it opened up, the dexterous tongue delivering a softened lump into his fingers which he then spent a further period kneading and rolling. They ended up forming a rounded shape while he fed another, larger piece into his mouth. It tasted familiarly strange, but since inspiration called for a little more detail than he usually afforded his works he deemed it necessary to use a little extra compared to normal. This, once ready, was moulded into the shape of a figure with the aid of several wooden sculpting tools. The iconic cloak skimmed over the general shape of the body simply enough, yet painstaking care went into the carving of elaborate clouds, of long bangs that swept down from the brow... and especially of elegant hands poised in a seal along with the long-lashed eyes and curved mouth adorning the figurine's face. After carefully shaping the dramatic collar and definition of throat and clavicle, he set about smoothing out any rough patches until Itachi's likeness—somewhat cartoonish yet charming all the same—smiled up at him. He laid it gently atop the workbench to dry and left, not allowing himself a moment to ask himself just what the hell he was thinking.

Later he found his roommate poking around in his private studio, the wooden face of the unsettlingly youthful boy somehow showing an expression of deep amusement. This instantly provoked Deidara—though they both shared the immediate area, their private rooms were supposed to be just that.

"And just what's so funny, huh, Sasori? You're **totally** envious of my perfect art, hm!"

Though he sneered, it only took a glance towards his latest creation before he blanched. Following the blond's line of sight, Sasori took the figurine in his hand and scrutinised it closely, as though he were some expert art critic.

"I'd say this is one of your finest, Deidara..." He mused aloud, then shot a knowing smirk up at his partner, who tensed up and started frantically tripping over his tongue.

"Yeah **well**! Well it'll be even finer once I blow up its **smug face** , won't it?"

"Juvenile, as always. When will you see that art is meant to last? That it should be preserved for the enjoyment of its _intended audience_?"

"And just what's **that** supposed to mean, hm?" Deidara was fuming by this point, his cheeks red from both anger and shame.

Sasori just shrugged, then set the model back down on its delicate feet.

"I'm just saying that such skill is wasted when nobody gets to really see or treasure it. Is it really a surprise then, that you were never noticed as an artist?"

"Get out! **OUT**."

The puppeteer shrugged again as he followed the trembling finger gesturing him out of the room. Once alone, the blond proceeded to throw himself angrily onto his unmade bed, and he slammed the side of his fist into the wall. The miniature Itachi fell flat on its face but, to add insult to injury, appeared to remain perfectly intact. That's just like him, Deidara thought. Infallible, unbreakable Itachi fucking Uchiha.

"Whatever, hm." He snapped. "You can just lie there on your stupid flawless face!"

* * *

Frustration having gotten the better of Deidara, he found himself unable to settle for long; after making a hasty escape from his shared quarters (with the purposeful blanking of Sasori as he did so), the blond shinobi navigated the labyrinth of deserted tunnels and worked his way upward, emerging from a hidden hatch atop a flat, stone ledge of his making. It was good to get out of that dingy, windowless place every so often. A good view of the sky and surrounding forests could do wonders for one's creative juices.

Blue eyes closed, allowing inspiring visions of explosions to dazzle his mind's eye. Fantastic bursts of red, of gold, of all colours comprehendible, seen both in sparks and flashes and within plumes of flame and smoke. Perhaps that was what his art needed, something to really seize his audience's attention and grip them with fear and astonishment!

... Unfortunately, Deidara knew exactly what Sasori had been referring to when he made that comment about being 'noticed'. His sharp brows furrowed. As if the cirumstances of his recruitment wasn't enough of an embarrassment, it just had to be his future partner who had witnessed firsthand his desperation to have a certain Uchiha recognise his art—not only that, but Sasori had clearly noted the combined devastation and awe with which he'd allowed Itachi's techniques to undo him back then, too.

How dare Sasori imply that Itachi should see his most recent piece, as if he'd even spare a shred of care for it in the first place!

Truth be told, Itachi was just not a creative guy. He used his birthright exactly as intended, with apparently no further effort put in when there could be so many possibilities! And Sasori had the gall to suggest _he_ was wasting _his_ potential!

"You'd be more attractive if you weren't always scowling over something," came a low, velvety voice that almost startled Deidara out of his skin. The wide-eyed look he'd initially shot up at the intruder was quickly smothered over with a cocky grin.

"That's an **impossibility** , hm." He flicked his long, blond hair from his shoulders, trying to appear cool. "How did you find this place anyway?"

"Oh... I saw you wandering and got curious... so I followed you up. Sharingan-assisted, to get past your little _traps_. I hope I'm not intruding."

"See, now that's cheating."

Usually Deidara would have flipped his lid when faced with anything related to certain ocular powers, but in honesty he was more concerned with the fact Itachi had decided to follow him. He made no effort to confirm or deny how invasive he found it, so Itachi took it upon himself to get comfortable—not that kneeling so formally with palms rested upon his lap could be classed as comfortable, in Deidara's opinion, but he supposed it was all in his upbringing. Shame he wasn't also brought up to not go off on murderous rampages _just because_.

Knowing Itachi's past, the exact reason for his exile, was a frightening thing even to the more dangerous members of Akatsuki. Even Kisame, who was practically legendary for his ruthlessness, showed the Uchiha a healthy measure of respect. It was something about his proper—almost _gentle_ —yet definitely powerful presence that made one so wary. Even with the relaxed smile Itachi wore, and with the wind gently tossing up his long, silken tresses like ink streaked loosely across parchment, Deidara couldn't quite determine how he should act.

Nevertheless, this Itachi seemed significantly warmer than the one who had defeated him in practically the blink of an eye.

"You chose a nice spot," said the Uchiha softly, eyelids closed against the light breeze. They seemed always to have a bruised quality about them—presumably through a lack of sleep, Deidara suspected, quite like those deep lines that overly defined his eye sockets. Eventually he cocked his head in agreement, to which Itachi responded, "What has you so frustrated, then?"

Deidara mulled over the question momentarily.

"A difference in **tastes** , hm. Same shit, different day. I don't see me and Sasori agreeing any time soon."

"I see. I think I can understand the merits of both sides... but you're both quite _extreme_."

Deidara returned with a small scoff and a quizzically arched brow. "What do **you** know about my art, huh? It's not like you've ever paid it any mind."

Itachi smiled mysteriously. "Just because I don't go shouting out all my thoughts for the world to hear, doesn't mean I don't _notice_."

Without realising until he felt the telltale prickle, the blond's cheeks flushed. There was definitely some hidden meaning in that tone, but... he must have been imagining it. Itachi was hardly the type to stoop to any sort of... insinuation. But then again, what did he really know about this guy? Perhaps he was simply trying to get him comfortable so that he could humiliate him again. That seemed likely.

"So if I showed you something in my studio, would you tell me what you think?" Deidara paused, calming his sudden nerves before flashing a cheeky grin. "No shouting necessary, hm."

It seemed ridiculous, that having Itachi's full attention could make his heart hammer so tangibly against his ribcage—but after all, it was something he had desired so deeply for the past few months since meeting the aloof Uchiha. Sasori was fortunately absent from their shared area, and from there the blond led his guest into his own quarters. Basically it was a large bedroom, half of which had been transformed into a workshop for his many clay creations; there even lay scattered about some sketches for his next designs, which he hastily gathered and hid away.

The miniature Itachi still lay face-down, and the two shinobi eyed it for a moment. It took a thick swallow and the steeling of his ego for Deidara to pick it up and present it to its audience, as Sasori had so subtly put it.

"Looks like you broke me," was his verdict. Confused, Deidara turned the figurine in his hand to find that a significant crack marred the smiling face he'd so delicately crafted earlier that day—and the most disturbing thing was, he actually felt a little disappointed. Never had he felt such a way. A broken piece of art just made the fleeting period in which it was whole all the more potent, more beautiful... so why would this now disappoint him?

"I thought that would please y-" A sharp, shattering noise cut him off, causing even the stoic Uchiha to jump as the clay splintered and shot off in all directions. Though Itachi avoided the worst of the shrapnel, several shards struck Deidara across the cheeks and forehead, and his fingers were bloodied as a result of combustion at such close range.

"I- **IT** **DOES**. HM."

Itachi just stood there, staring with what appeared to be genuine confusion.

"Just what is it you want from me?"

" **I** dunno, hm! I want... I want you to acknowledge my art for its brilliance! I want you to be overcome by awe! I want you to **fear** it—no, fear **me**! I want..." He approached the raven-haired shinobi. If it wasn't for his awareness of Itachi's capabilities, he would have reached out and grabbed the silken mane, but as it stood the blond just wrung his hands and fumed redundantly, frustration clearly getting the bettter of him. "... I want to **open you up** , Uchiha, and see what it takes to break down your fucking cool act."

A fleeting look of extreme discomfort that twisted Itachi's delicate features quickly melted away into a mask of cold stoicism, his peaceful attitude replaced by that threateningly emotionless presence once more. Deidara suddenly found his fiery temper dampened under the acute sense that he had overstepped some sort of boundary, and he half-expected to wind up lost in another famous genjutsu—or worse, enveloped in black fire. But it seemed Itachi was mulling something over internally, as shown only by the brief darting of dark irises.

"...That is _not_ something you can achieve." replied Itachi with stern finality, then swept out of the room.

* * *

The following weeks saw the bitter rift reopen all the more obviously than before. The two exchanged not so much as a glance... at least, not simultaneously. Though he didn't consciously realise it, Deidara watched the Uchiha more and more with each passing day and despaired at the fact his blowing up (in both senses of the word) had somehow severed their tenuous rapport before it even had a chance to fully materialise. To make matters worse, he still didn't know if Itachi had even liked the small statuette, so he had to deal regularly with the artistic conflict presented whenever he felt disappointment at it having been destroyed.

Itachi himself appeared and acted as normal, though various mannerisms that had always been commonplace grew ever more apparent to Deidara. He was _obsessed_ by the elegant way those violet-manicured fingers would curl around his cup, how his lips would purse slightly as he blew cool air over the piping hot tea within. They looked so soft and yielding, especially whenever he exchanged a rare, quiet word with one of their fellow Akatsuki; and on the off-chance that one of the others made him smile, the young shinobi would silently fume inside at the fact it was _never_ for him.

Now more than ever, Deidara wished to get closer to the other... but still he had no hope of understanding just **why** this was such a big deal to him.


	2. Hygroscopic

**Chapter 2: Hygroscopic**

The morning was young, still largely consumed by night's embrace, though its strength was at waning point thus allowing the sun to guide in the day. It almost seemed a shame that it would flourish so beautifully, only for darkness to drag it down once more-but such an eventuality in itself held an intoxicating charm, cruel and chilling as its grip on one's soul may be.

Such thoughts plagued often the mind that witnessed this transition night after restless night.

Since that day several weeks ago, whenever Uchiha Itachi sensed blue eyes boring into him, it seemed to take incredible restraint to maintain the stone-cold composure for which he was famed. Incredible, really, when one considered the atrocities he'd both faced and committed in his short life thus far—all of which he'd handled with relative (outward) calm.

And yet somehow he found his skin crawling beneath the mercurial gaze of a shinobi who, based on first impressions, was nothing short of idiotic. Not only was he idiotic, but abundantly obnoxious, loud and lacking in reason... even so, it was this very same young man who had also blundered centre stage into the Uchiha's focus in the few quiet months since he'd 'recruited' him, even if Itachi himself was content to silently observe, which was more often than not the case.

The day he met Deidara in his secret getaway had really been a turning point from Itachi's initial judgement, a brief lapse in all the tension that had been slowly mounting between them—for reasons still unknown to the Uchiha—in which they both seemed to enjoy the other's company. Itachi had witnessed a side to the Iwa shinobi that day, surrounded as they were by nature's delicate beauty and bathed in the afternoon sunlight, that made him positively _glow_. And that wasn't a term he'd normally use to describe another.

Itachi sighed as he watched the blood orange sun bleed into blue with incredible smatterings of red, pink and gold, almost as though an explosion were taking place in slow motion. The display took his thoughts back to Deidara's art, which normally wouldn't last a day before meeting a visually similar end.

So why had an insignificant crack in a sculpture mortified their newest member so?

The most uncomfortable part of the situation since the small but potent dispute they'd shared was that every time Itachi caught the blond intensely staring his way, he was transported back to the day they'd met, where he'd been regarded with the awe and fear that a god would expect from a loyal devotee. He hadn't thought much of it back then but now, seeing that same raw feeling reflected in piercing blue each day, and then recalling what happened back in Deidara and Sasori's quarters...

It felt like he was being exposed. Scrutinised. Picked apart.

 _'I want to open you up.'_

That's what Deidara had said to him in a moment of furious passion that Itachi didn't quite comprehend. Regardless of the intent, what he did understand was that under no circumstances could **any** member of Akatsuki be allowed to know too much about him or his cause. There was only one soul who knew everything... but that individual, thankfully, remained out of the picture for now. Even so, he had to keep caution and wit by his side at all times. _Especially_ in front of Deidara, for whom the Uchiha's cold rejection may have piqued a potentially deadly interest. A _fixation_ , even.

There was _one goal_ that kept Itachi in Akatsuki—just _**one**_ —and he refused to allow anyone to stand in the way.

With the new day finally in full bloom, Itachi rose from where he sat cross-legged on the ground and stretched his entire body upwards in a long, languid motion, hands reaching for the sky. He could tell the weather this day would be mild, and took pleasure in the gentle way the breeze caressed his aching eyelids; it seemed to take with it a small measure of his perpetual exhaustion, replacing tumult with a serene smile.

It was the simple things he was thankful for.

* * *

No more than an hour later, Itachi stood amid steam that hung thick in the air, enclosed as the spring of his choosing was. His vision had started to slide in and out of focus as he'd made his way there from the hideout, a worryingly short time since the last occurrence, but he ignored it and continued as though it were nothing. With a sigh, he slipped off his robe. At least _here_ , he could pretend it was just the steam.

* * *

From his no-longer-so-secret spot atop the cliffs Deidara had a terrific vantage point, which made it quite easy for his sharp eyes to pick up on a distinct movement amongst the trees whilst he engaged in his morning meditation (more like daydreaming).

It was an elegant figure that drew his eye, cloaked in a plain robe that picked up in the breeze behind it, and it travelled in a definite beeline towards the springs. The Iwa shinobi closed his right eye, allowing him to see his target more clearly with the very eye he'd been training since that fateful first encounter with his Akatsuki rival.

Of course, the figure itself was none other than the rival in question. He could tell those were Itachi's graceful movements from a passing glance alone, having been consumed by many such details regarding the Uchiha of late. Other than that, and how _great_ his eyesight must have gotten in these last few months, what really struck Deidara was how Itachi had stopped every so often and swayed on the spot, sometimes even using a nearby trunk for support.

Though his skills of stealth and espionage were still... a _work in progress_ , to say the least... the Iwa shinobi followed through on his sudden impulse to be nosy, leaping from rock to rock in a zig-zagging pattern until both feet landed on the springy grass below. Knowing he was still a significant distance from his target, he hopped onto the nearest branch and picked out a route shadowing that which he'd spied from above; even if the trees were fairly sparce in this region, their leafy boughs provided a more substantial shield from wary eyes than if he'd simply followed Itachi on foot.

After several minutes of hopping between branches—with surprising subtlety, he thought smugly to himself—Deidara stopped to close his right eye again, which allowed the left to pick up more easily on the unsteady Uchiha rounding a rocky corner to the springs a relatively short way ahead.

 _Nice. He hadn't been spotted._

 **HOWEVER**. His lack of forethought earlier had yet to bloom into any sort of plan at this stage, slapdash or otherwise _(that impulsiveness of his, those lapses in judgement that seemed somehow innate despite Deidara's actually rather sharp mind, caused him such trouble at times)._

It was hardly as if he could just waltz up to his nemesis and ask why he'd looked so faint. Nor could he really hang about and wait—what if he was _seen_? And also, he hadn't considered the fact Itachi was probably stripping off right now... How creepy would that look, if he was found _lurking around_ in the shadows..?

A fleshly thud against stone, followed by a startled gasp, snapped Deidara out of his inner fretting. It came from the hot springs, from where Itachi had gone, alone. But _surely_ nobody would launch an ambush there, of all places?

Needless to say, the hot-headed shinobi pounced from the branches and sprinted toward the source of the commotion, hands shoved deep in the pouches that housed his precious clay in preparation for the worst... But, when he burst in on the sure-to-be-bloody scene, only Itachi met his gaze (dressed... **mostly** ), though he was propping himself up from where he lay the ground with his head cradled in one shaking hand. Deidara immediately halted in his tracks, mouth open but wordless given that this was the most alone they'd been since the last time the accursed Uchiha had undermined his art.

Frankly, he was still _fuming_ about that, but there was... **something**. Something about the way eyes dull as slate bore no hint of immediate recognition as they scanned upward, a sort of _lost_ look, that dampened his anger. For a fleeting moment, the infamous clan-killer looked _vulnerable_ (and therefore crucial and beautiful) ... until, of course, his finely arched brows furrowed in distaste—undoubtedly able to make out the golden hair that gave the Iwa ninja away.

" _Oh_... it's only _you_..." Itachi said, much to the immediate flaring of Deidara's temper. All of a sudden the situation didn't seem _quite_ so deserving of compassion.

"You're welcome for making sure that wasn't **some bastard** trying to take you out," he snapped with a tooth-baring snarl. He ejected the emergency clay back into the pouches by his sides, then angrily balled them into fists.

Itachi scoffed quietly in response, as though it were the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard (to Deidara's extreme irritation); even so, as he tried to pick himself up from the hard floor his arms gave way again and he collapsed ungracefully. Deidara tutted, swore under his breath about _'fucking arrogant'_ something or other, then walked over to the heap of Uchiha and crouched down beside him. He scooped Itachi up and dragged him over to a large rock where he could be seated vaguely upright—though, not being the tallest of young men, Deidara managed this feat with some degree of difficulty.

For a few moments, the Iwa shinobi remained at Itachi's level. He must have just... collapsed on his own or _something_ , while getting changed, suspect as it seemed. That was judging by the fact the robe and shirt he normally wore for such morning rituals lay folded neatly nearby, undisturbed by any sort of skirmish.

More distinctly to Deidara, since danger at this point seemed unlikely, he caught sight of the silk ribbon that bound Itachi's long, glossy hair into his signature ponytail lying in a spiral atop the garments.

More notably _again_ was the vein-like pattern his hair made, picked out strikingly black against marble flesh in this rare instance of liberation; each inky strand was _just_ steam-laden enough to cling to the contours of an artfully sculpted throat, collarbone and chest...

 _ **Fuck**_ _, there it was again!_ The goddamn **fixation** , so painfully rampant, that always led Deidara's mind spiralling slowly into... he didn't even know what. But what he did know was that this _really wasn't_ the time or the place, slave to some sort of aesthetic obsession or no. Itachi was sick, clearly. And even though he hated his guts, he was too valuable to expose to danger—even if, by rights, it wasn't his fucking problem.

He'd heard more than enough about how vital the ex-Konoha shinobi was in gathering intel and infiltrating his former home unnoticed, so he could only imagine the chewing out he would receive if such an _important asset_ wasn't _task-ready_.

First things first, Deidara wet a spare bandage using cool water from a skin he carried on him at all time, because sometimes spit alone just didn't cut it. He folded the cloth, then placed it delicately across Itachi's forehead; this alone was enough to make him stir, so at least it was clear he wasn't _completely_ out for the count. Just... weakened, for whatever reason. He took this as a sign it was safe enough to leave the other for a short time, enough only to give the immediate area a quick once over for any signs of suspicious activity.

" **Hey** , Uchiha..." Deidara said upon returning, having found nothing incriminating, and sat cross legged beside the still-resting shinobi. He reached forward and patted his cheek, gently but still enough to make a light slapping sound. It was by now reaffirmed to him that this incident was caused by something specific to Itachi himself, and though the responsive twitch at a second (slightly _less_ gentle) slap was a good sign, Itachi still didn't seem lucid. It was frustrating... mostly because he was growing curious, but also thanks to the side helping of awkward tension.

" _ **Uchiha**_ **!** You keep um, going **unconscious** and stuff, so I'm gonna send a bird back to HQ and— _woah!_ "

As though sensing some sort of threat in the statement, Itachi seized Deidara's wrist just as he reached for some clay.

" _Don't_ …" he stated simply, head rolling to face the other before finally opening his eyes. His eyelids, perma-bruised with sleeplessness, were heavy but awake nonetheless. "I'm _**fine**_ …"

Something in that seemed to beg his co-operation, and there was a weariness which Deidara found himself all too terribly aware of, though the feeling it evoked was of an intangible sort to him. Impossible to place, that is. He freed himself of Itachi's grip and shrugged, hiding behind a scowl.

"Fine, _whatever_. It's up to you, mm." He tutted again, then sat. "Doesn't sound like it's too serious anyway. What is it?"

"I've just been feeling light-headed recently... I was hoping a hot bath would help ease things a little." Onyx eyes looked anywhere that wasn't Deidara, which only pissed him off given how mixed the signals thus far had been. Only the fact Itachi wasn't prying into his own reasons for being here held together his fraying nerves.

"Um... _right_ , sorry. I could go, I mean, if you're feeling alright and aren't gonna _drown yourself or anything_ —hm!"

"Like I said, I'm fine. But by all means, don't let me stop you from doing what you _obviously_ also came here to do..." Mysteriously, Itachi's lips twitched into... _was that a smirk?_ Yeah, even from a slightly shielded profile view it was definitely a little bit cheeky. More indecipherable signals for the confusing mix— _ **joy**_ —and Deidara had no clue how to respond. "Besides... that _smell_ is probably what's been getting to me..."

The blond blinked yet more stupidly with mouth slightly agape, while Itachi turned to hide himself having to bitine back a silent laugh. As Deidara clearly struggled to find some retort, Itachi casually flung the damp bandage at his face, where it soon dropped to the ground with an unceremonious _splat!,_ then gingerly stood up. He still swayed a little, but was at least able to rid himself of the remaining one or two garments, which he allowed to pool messily at his now-bare feet.

Deidara's eyes _**screamed**_ to follow the path of his now-naked rival—an act of ultimate betrayal to the hatred he swore to—padding towards the steaming hot spring, but luckily only gave in to see Itachi's slender back vanish into the water.

An unnamed force, one that had quietly ached deep within since their last attempt at bonding had gone so wrong, drove the young and impulsive shinobi to seize this opportunity lest it vanish as swiftly and surely as his every creation did. The sudden shift in mood, though surprising in itself, only became more so; after glaring at the back of Itachi's head with eyes full of azure fury bore no effect... Deidara, too, got to his feet and reluctantly disrobed.

Either the cool breeze against his naked flesh, or something he'd yet to identify—or _both_ —caused his blood to race as he neared the water's edge, heart ticking away far too audibly for comfort. It was only a small consolation that Deidara caught sight of Itachi's fully-closed eyes as he submerged himself, wincing at the initial feeling of being boiled alive but powering through in order to be concealed by the cloudiness and steam. The Uchiha was silent, yet had an air of _amusement_ about him.

 _ **Not**_ that it was anything to get too bothered about. It was perfectly normal for Akatsuki members to bathe together at times, Konan exempt. So there really was no reason to be... _self-conscious_ —you know, except for the fact Itachi was...

... Well…

 _Beautiful was the only word for it._

Deidara hated that. He hated how he **stared** , all. the. _time_. His eyes were _**greedy**_ for Itachi Uchiha, and it was that that had driven him crazy ever since Akatsuki so graciously _'enlisted'_ him. For so long he'd thought it was all down to that accursed Sharingan and its mysterious power over him... but now, here, seeing dark lashes flutter to reveal only further darkness—no genjutsu, no flames or radiant crimson, just eyes of polished jet—and feeling that same snare-like grip around his throat, it all seemed to strike him, like a ton of bricks…

A moment of eye contact. Pale lips parting with the ghost of a question that wanted to take form, but faltering as Deidara drew closer. Hands sliding up throat, caressing jaw and chin and cheeks gently as though handling precious china.

What found him gliding in and pressing up close to the stunned Uchiha was not logic or reason, but undeniable _impulse_... oh, and it just felt _so right_ to be there. It was like being ensnared in some euphoric dream, so perfect did Itachi's skin feel beneath his fingertips—and already too addictive, for how could such a feared shinobi also be this _soft_ , this _inviting_?

Deidara's eyes were inextricably drawn to Itachi's mouth for fear that looking anywhere else would break this spell before finally, with mutually shaking breaths that mingled for a brief moment in the thick air, their lips melded into one.

Thus he was lost utterly in the taste and feel of Uchiha Itachi, the man who had ignited such seething, **bitter** hatred in him… and somewhere, amid this overwhelming surge of emotion and in a place he would surely forget later, he wondered to himself: had it _always_ been romance at first sight?


End file.
